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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29586195">Through Lonely Mists Together</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/mayatheyellowbee/pseuds/mayatheyellowbee'>mayatheyellowbee</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Body Horror, Ciri is a badass teenager, Creature Jaskier | Dandelion, Crossover, Cults, Good Parent Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Hopeful Ending, Horror, M/M, Post-Apocalypse, Psychological Horror, mentioned eating disorder</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 00:34:13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,788</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29586195</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/mayatheyellowbee/pseuds/mayatheyellowbee</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The world has ended. Geralt couldn’t reliably say when it happened, if it was years or perhaps only months ago. Time doesn’t have meaning anymore. Neither does space. Neither does anything else. He doesn’t feel hunger, or exhaustion. Pain, though, is very much still here. It’s everywhere. Pain, and Fear, and Despair.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>  <i>Not Death, no. Death is too merciful.</i></p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Geralt has to find Ciri. He couldn't save the world, but he won't leave her alone in the worst version of Hell. When all hope seems lost, help comes from the most unexpected source...</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon &amp; Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia &amp; Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>60</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Best Geralt, GRB2020 Team Works</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Through Lonely Mists Together</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hekatos_Mist/gifts">Hekatos_Mist</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This fic was written for the Geraskier Reverse Bang 2020 and inspired by <a href="https://hekatos-mist.tumblr.com/">Hekatos Mist's</a> deliciously spooky <a href="https://hekatosmistart.tumblr.com/post/643659758483668992/through-lonely-mists-together-by">art</a>. I had such fun writing this story and brainstorming ideas with him, and I hope you'll enjoy reading it just as much.</p><p>You don't need to have listened to The Magnus Archives Podcast to understand this story, but please proceed with caution. This is a horror story. I tagged as many sensitive subjects I could think of but don't hesitate to tell me if something else needs to be tagged.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>
    
  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The world has ended. Geralt couldn’t reliably say when it happened, if it was years or perhaps only months ago. Time doesn’t have meaning anymore. Neither does space. Neither does anything else. He doesn’t feel hunger, or exhaustion. Pain, though, is very much still here. It’s everywhere. Pain, and Fear, and Despair.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Not Death, no. Death is too merciful.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt had been alone when the Change happened, making some minor house repairs while Ciri was at school. He hadn’t noticed it at first, his head under the kitchen sink, trying to work out where that goddamned leak was coming from. It’d taken more time than it should have for him to catch on the hum of his medallion, getting stronger by the second, and he’d hit his head on the way up as he got ready to face whatever strange phenomena was coming his way, a wrench in one hand as a make-shift weapon, cursing himself for getting complacent and leaving his swords in the bedroom closet.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Nothing had appeared though, no vengeful Avatar, no weird monster, no incarnation of one of the Entities whatsoever, and he’d frowned in confusion before he’d heard the first screams. It’d turned his blood cold, the sheer terror, the blind pain behind it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’d looked outside, and at first glance nothing had changed, except the big fucking eye that had taken the place of the Sun, unblinking, always open, always Watching.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And there wasn’t anyone in the streets, either. In the middle of the day, there wasn’t a single soul to be seen. The screams were still there, though. Ear-shattering.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Something had moved in his hand, and he’d lowered his eyes to find the wrench gone. In its place was a thin, pale arm, cut at the elbow, moving weakly like a lizard’s tail after it’s been ripped off the body. There was no blood, but a thick leather bracelet circled the delicate wrist, and Geralt’s stomach had lurched, his heart lodged in his throat. He’d fallen to his knees, narrowly avoiding a second thump against the counter.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That bracelet was Ciri’s eleventh birthday gift. She’d never taken it off since then, even when she’d moved on from her metalhead phase.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The soft skin under Geralt’s fingers was as familiar as the accessory, except it was cold, not warm and full of life like it should have been. Like it couldn’t not be.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geralt had stayed knelt on the kitchen floor for what felt like hours, staring at the arm slowly ceasing movement, holding it in his lap, deaf to the never-ending screams outside of his apartment.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But when he’d finally raised his head, a vertebra popping in his neck stiff from the position, the sky was still blue, the Sun - </span>
  <em>
    <span>the eye</span>
  </em>
  <span> - still at its zenith, and it looked like no time had passed at all.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His medallion was still vibrating, stronger than it ever had, and the reality of what had happened had hit him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They’d succeeded. The Fears. They’d finally broken through what thin veil protected the physical world from their full power, and they’d taken over.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A wave of intense lassitude had washed over him. Everything he’d worked for, everything he’d been shaped to accomplish, the one goal that had driven his life before Ciri barged in and carved a little girl-shaped space in his heart. In the end, all of that had been for nothing. He hadn’t even been there to try and stop whatever had led to the Change. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But inactivity was not something Geralt was good at, so after indulging in a bit more wallowing, he’d gotten up, dropping the limp arm on the counter, and had given the all-seeing eye in the sky a last glare before climbing the stairs up to his room.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If what he knew about the advent of the Entities was true, then most of humanity had been thrown in their own personal hell, feeding the Fears with sheer terror and unabridged pain. But Geralt was not. He was still in his house, and even if the worst thing he could have ever thought about had just happened, it certainly didn’t show the extent of the Entities’ powers. It probably meant that those, like him, who had been claimed by the Fears in some way or another, were spared from being trapped in an endless cycle of physical and psychological torture.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And no one was more claimed by an Entity than Ciri.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She had to be safe. </span>
  <em>
    <span>She had to be</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But she was still alone, and probably scared out of her mind. Powers or not, she was still a teenage girl who cried watching Bambi.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Keeping her safe was Geralt’s mission. His vow, to her and to himself, to always protect and care for her. A vow uttered long ago in a house smelling of rotten wood and fresh blood.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So he had opened the closet’s door, dug his sword from where it was collecting dust under his gym bag, and left the house where he had known happiness for the first time in his long, lonely life.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s been walking since then. Never stopping to rest. He doesn’t need to sleep anymore, not in this new, horrible reality, that requires its inhabitants to stay awake and conscious enough to feel depths of fear never experienced before.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He hasn’t met anyone since he left the house. Oh, he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>seen</span>
  </em>
  <span> people, but they didn’t see him, too lost in their own suffering to recognize anything beyond it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s met a few Avatars too, but they hardly qualify as people. They mostly leave him alone, except for the few ones he’s met before, when he was still actively fighting the Entities. None of them tries to harm him anyway, high on their newfound powers, governing their Domains, bubbles of space and time abiding by their own rules, harvesting the products of specific fears. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Being lonely again after years of caring for another human being is harder than Geralt would have ever thought it possible. His body doesn’t have basic needs anymore, but the constant worry and the loneliness take their toll on his mind.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>For so long during the first part of his life he’d thought he’d be lonely forever, until someone or something would be stronger than him, or until he’d go mad at witnessing the things happening in the dark.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And then he’d found Ciri, born from madness and death and fire, and his world had shifted on its axis. He had become a father.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d noticed strong paranormal activity in an old victorian house on the heights of London, the type hipsters would die to restore and boast about the whole thing on social media, except this one was in a really bad state. It would have looked empty if it wasn’t for the people going in and out at all times of the day and night, some of them bringing grocery bags. It seemed like there were always at least a few people inside.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geralt had kept watch for a whole week, hidden in the house on the other side of the street, empty while its owners were on holidays in Morocco. He’d just started to think it was only a basic squat for heroin addicts, when his medallion had started vibrating violently, almost lifting off his chest with the force of the paranormal energy. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Only six people had gone in that day, and one had left a little earlier in the evening. Dispatching them wouldn’t be a problem, except if they had training.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The back door had been easy to break in, the wood panes too old to offer much resistance against a well-placed kick. He’d entered a kitchen, smelling like old dishes and dampness. There was no one to be seen, but he could hear people talking in what must have been the living room. From where he was, he could see light pouring in the hallway, and a threadbare rug with burnt marks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The voices were rushed, and it seemed to be an argument between a woman and two men. The woman was saying something about “not being ready” and “needing a few more years”, while one of the men, who Geralt could hear more clearly due to the deeper pitch of his voice, argued that they’d all be kindling if they waited any longer. The woman had an unhinged edge to her voice when she replied that he should be grateful to serve such a purpose to their master.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There had been a scuffle and a scream of pain, most likely from the man, and a smell of burnt skin had Geralt tensing, hesitant to intervene, but it stopped before he’d made a decision.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’ll bear the mark of your master with pride, or I won’t be so merciful next time,” the woman had drawled with naked cruelty in her voice. A sob had been the only reply, and she’d addressed the other man: “She’s simply hungry. Go fetch her something to eat.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geralt didn’t have time to hide before the man entered the room, a little pale. They’d watched each other for a second before the man had opened his mouth to scream. Geralt cut his head in one swift motion, but not fast enough. A woman with red hair had appeared in the hallway, eyes wild. She was petite, but the way she stalked towards Geralt as a feral smile spread on her lips told him she wouldn’t be an easy adversary.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It hadn’t been a long fight in the end, but it had added two new scars to his collection.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The woman’s hands were blisteringly hot wherever they had touched his skin, on his sword arm, and over his collarbone. It had felt like his skin would melt like hot wax, like her hand would go right through his flesh and bones. But he had braced himself against the pain, and kept fighting. His sword had slid easily between two of her ribs, and he had gutted her without qualm. She’d pissed him off and he wasn’t in the mood to offer her a painless death.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had left her on a heap on the floor of the hallway, not waiting for her final breath before stepping over her and into the living room. Sitting on the bare floor, a trembling mess of a man was sobbing quietly with his head between his arms The man had raised his head as the floorboards creaked under Geralt’s weight, his face pale and drawn except for the burnt flesh marring half of it. It was red and angry and it looked fresh. His eye on that side was closed and Geralt was pretty sure the liquid weeping from it meant the eyeball had burst because of the heat.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The man had whimpered as he noticed the blood still dripping from Geralt’s sword, and the Hunter had debated ending the man’s suffering or letting him escape and becoming a potential future problem.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’d just settled on ending the man’s life when a sound unlike any other had overwhelmed his every senses, making his head spin.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It had sounded like a scream, high and piercing, and all-encompassing. The house had creaked as if under terrible strain, dust falling from the ceiling and windows vibrating so hard it seemed as if the glass was going to break. Smoke rose from the floorboards, the rug sprouting new dark stains as it burnt right under Geralt’s feet.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His ears were ringing, his brain stabbed with thousands of needles, and he had fallen to his knees without realizing it, head cradled in his hands to try and stop the noise from filling his very mind.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When finally Geralt had opened his eyes after what had felt like hours, he was curled in a ball on the floor, and, by the smell of it, some of his hair had been singed in the process. Rising slowly, his head pounding, he had felt wetness dripping from his ears, and didn’t need to see his red-stained hair to know it was his own blood.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The other man had stopped crying, and his ears seemed to be bleeding too. He stared blankly ahead of himself, not even acknowledging Geralt anymore.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Get out of here,” Geralt had said between clenched teeth, the movement of his jaw sending stabbing pain into his eardrums.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was no reaction from the man, not even when Geralt checked his pulse. The man was still alive, but unresponsive. Geralt decided to leave him. Even If he survived, he probably wouldn’t be much of a threat to anyone.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Picking up his sword from the floor where he’d dropped it, Geralt had investigated the rest of the house, trying to find an entrance to the basement, from which he was sure the sound had come.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was confirmed when he had found a door under the stairs to the first floor. Opening it released a puff of black smoke and a foul smell of burnt flesh and ozone. It was dark inside, and the smoke didn’t help. Geralt felt like something was wrong, but he couldn’t just leave without making sure whatever was done there wouldn’t do any more harm.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geralt had descended the stairs cautiously, his sword in hand. His shoes left imprints on the soot-covered concrete stairs, and quickly his hair and face took the color of ash as it covered him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The basement was one large open room, probably used as a bedroom if the burnt furniture was any indication. Two prostrated shapes he struggled to identify as scorched bodies were lying on the floor, still smouldering.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And there, in the middle of the room, untouched by any of the destruction, sat a blonde, plump toddler in plain clothes. Her reddened cheeks and tear-filled eyes were locked on Geralt with a startled gaze, probably similar to his own.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It might have been an illusion, a trick, but his medallion sat still against his skin, and he didn’t see the reason behind an illusion like this one. Slowly, he had approached the toddler, who watched him with growing interest.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Crouching, he had dropped his sword to the ground, far enough that the kid wouldn’t hurt herself by accident, and awkwardly lifted the little girl from the ground. She didn’t resist, instead babbling happily as she started pulling on his hair with surprising strength.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She had bright green eyes, and Geralt couldn’t do anything else than stare at them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So, you’re the terrible weapon, huh? Not that scary.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As an answer, the toddler had let out a happy shriek that was just that side of too loud, with an unnerving edge to it, and his medallion hummed against his chest. Geralt braced himself to be reduced to ashes like the two other bodies in the room, but the little girl seemed to take interest in his medallion instead, examining it for a second before putting it in her mouth.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hmm. Interesting.” Geralt said, thoughtful for a moment. “What are you, little one?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The kid only had drooled some more as she looked at him with soulful eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you hungry? The woman upstairs said you were hungry.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The kid had popped the medallion out of her mouth and said something that was along the lines of “ba!” in a very affirmative tone. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A smile had tugged at his lips as he replied “Well, let’s get you some food then.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had crouched again to retrieve his sword, wiped it as best as he could against his trouser’s leg, and started up the stairs again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Where are you parents, little one?” he had asked, more to himself than to the kid. She replied anyway, in her own babbling words, resting her head in the crook of his neck with such trust Geralt felt a deep tug in his heart.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No matter. I’ll take care of you.” And deeply, he knew he’d do his best to fulfill his promise, as long as he had breath left in his lungs.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And he’d done it. He’d raised her, put his swords aside to make sure she had a childhood as normal as she could have when nightmares of barren lands and blazing fires would shake her awake and her screams would burn the covers off her bed and make lightbulbs explode. He’d held her, and comforted her, and waited for her to go back to sleep. He’d taught his killer hands to be gentle and patient, to change diapers and brush platinum blonde hair into ponytails and pigtails and three different types of braids.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There’d been people who’d tried to take her back, people with burning hands and no light in their eyes, but he’d made quick work of them. He’d have fought Avatars with his bare hands if it had meant protecting his little girl.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’d gone on a few hunts when she was older, the inaction leaving him restless, though he was always tired from the planning and the driving her to soccer practice and the teaching her to harness her powers. She’d had a good control over them before the Change, and only sometimes  when she was upset would her voice go up up up, making everyone around her a little wary without knowing why. She didn’t abuse it, though Geralt knew she’d been brought into this world to do just that, to let it loose no matter how many lives she would be ruining.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had told her about the circumstances of her birth too, after making some research. The answer had been in Vesemir’s old records about the Cult of the Lightless Flame, a Desolation-worshipping group that had supposedly disappeared in the 60’s, after trying and failing to create a beacon to call their master into the material world, an Antichrist of sorts.They’d tried again, apparently, choosing suitable parents and setting up a very controlled environment for the birth of their new messiah. Geralt couldn’t find details of the particular ritual, but he knew it couldn’t have been pretty.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’d debated with himself if telling Ciri about all of it was the right decision for a long time, but in the end he couldn’t keep it from her: she needed to know, for her own safety, she was too smart to be left in the dark, and she deserved to make her own choices.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’d told her about the whole thing when she was eight, and they’d decided together that she needed to learn how to defend herself. So, between school and soccer practice and everything else, he’d take her to the small garden at the back of their house he’d bought under a fake name and he’d take his swords from the closet and he’d teach her everything he was taught when he was her age.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’d offered her her own sword when she’d turned ten, and he had never seen her so happy.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had planned on taking her to one of his hunts when she was a bit older, an easy one, so she could see what it really meant, so she could decide by herself if she wanted to follow in his steps or if she wanted a normal life. She’d never be alone whatever her choice was.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’d never got to do that in the end.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Now he makes sure to check thoroughly in every Domain he passes. It’s a long, strenuous work, but he can’t afford to miss Ciri. He still thinks she might be allowed to wander in the wasteland between each Domain like he is, but, if she’s not and she’s stuck in a loop of blind terror, he has to get her out of there. He’s heard the screams, he’s seen the glassy looks of the poor souls enduring their own version of hell. He can’t bear to think about her going through something similar. But the idea that she’s lost, alone, is just as heart-wrenching, so he walks without rest, he searches everywhere, and she could be miles away, but he won’t stop looking, because she trusts him, and he can’t not try.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Some Domains he dismisses easier than others, like the one where people are forced to eat whole buffets, plates and silverware included, as voices whisper in their ears how fat and ugly and gross they are. Ciri’s never had a problem with her body or her food consumption. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He still keeps his eyes and ears open. He’s not stupid enough to pretend knowing everything about his teenage daughter.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Others, he spends a bit more time, searches a bit more thoroughly, like the one that was a mix of the Flesh and the Stranger. For a few years, Ciri had been scared out of her mind by the alien in </span>
  <em>
    <span>The Thing</span>
  </em>
  <span> after Geralt had mistakenly deemed the movie suitable for an eight year old. She’d grown out of it - though she’d never really forgiven him for the misjudgement - but Geralt knows how deep childhood fears carve themselves into young minds.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Domain he approaches now is not one he thinks she could be in. It’s a foggy swamp with a muggy ground and treacherous holes filled with stagnant water, nothing to see but the silhouettes of dead trees taking weird shapes in the mist. Some of them seem to move, to disappear when he gets close, and there is no wind but there are whispers everywhere, just out of hearing reach to properly understand what they’re saying. There are laughs sometimes, cruel and pitying, but Geralt doesn’t let it get to him. It must be a Domain of the Eye, or the Lonely, or a mix of the two.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s tired, he doesn’t want to squelch through the damn swamp, he hates getting wet, but going around won’t be any help. He’ll be following the edge of the Domain for an eternity, and he won’t be any closer to finding Ciri.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Glowing eyes watch him in the fog as he stumbles and gets mud on his trousers. The laughs get louder, as if reacting to his clumsiness, and it reminds him of the sitcoms Ciri watches after class before she does her homework.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It reminds him of a pair of blue eyes watching him like he’s the finest entertainment. Of a clear, musical laughter that rang in the darkest places.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wonders, not for the first time since all this shit happened, if Jaskier has his own Domain now. If he’s confined to it, torturing souls for eternity, stronger than ever as he feeds from the pain and anguish he inflicts. Jaskier has never seemed really interested in spreading horror and despair, but Geralt can’t pretend he ever understood the Avatar’s motivations.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He can admit to himself that he is curious to know what it looks like, if it’s as loud and colorful as the ridiculous man. With bright lights and music and incessant chatter. It’d certainly be a distressful place to Geralt.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wouldn’t mind the man’s conversation at the moment, though. It’s been an eternity since he talked to anyone, or anyone talked to him, and it’s getting harder and harder to ignore his most depressing thoughts.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>The seemingly young man had sauntered into Geralt’s life like he sauntered into every situation; with nonchalance and a bright, easy smile, taking space like he owned the whole world and his presence was a blessing to everyone he deigned to grace with it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’d been long before he had met Ciri, when he was still a Hunter skirting the edges of society to try and protect it from the Entities’ spawns. He’d been on the Path for a decade or so then, and his only human contact that wasn’t reassuring victims of the monster or Avatar he’d been hunting was his annual visit to Vesemir for the winter, which rarely went smoothly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’d been Lonely, so much so that he’d even started thinking he was okay with it. He wasn’t meant to be with other human beings, he was the sentinel that kept them safe, or as safe as one man could keep the entire humanity against Fear itself.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier had challenged that, filling his life with chatter and music and loud laughter. Geralt had hated it. He’d never trusted him, never called him a friend despite the man’s insistence that they were, in fact, best friends.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s not like I have a lot of competition, is it?” Jaskier had joked once, which wasn’t wrong.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Avatar insisted that their meeting was a gift from Destiny, though Geralt never believed it to be a coincidence. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Monster hunter wasn’t really a job you’d find ads in the newspaper for, so Geralt had different ways to decide on what leads to follow. When he was still alive, old Vesemir had kept contact with some acquaintances from his days on the Path, who’d give him a call if they ever heard of something weird happening, and he’d pass the details to Geralt. There was also the self-proclaimed witch Geralt bought the ingredients for his potions from who sometimes had some good information, though she liked to play tricks on him. She’d never gotten him in real danger though, and she had the best ingredients, so he hadn’t bothered putting a stop to her… less benevolent activities.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When none of that was fruitful, he’d begrudgingly start browsing on paranormal fans websites. There were several dedicated to people sharing their own supernatural encounters</span>
  <span>.</span>
  <span> A lot of it was crap, uninspired ghost apparitions, extraterrestrial encounters, and a couple of Mothman-believers. But sometimes, someone would write about a weird book, or a person that looked just a bit wrong, or a shadow that stayed on their wall no matter what every night. Geralt’s instinct was usually right about which ones were true and which ones were just made up stories from wannabe writers trying their hand at horror.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>One of them had quickly drawn his attention. The prose was not pretentious and didn’t feel like a story, just the hurried, anxious statement of a confused victim, and he could recognize the mark of the Stranger in the few useful details.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It had taken little effort to find the witness’ personal details, a young Finnish woman recently moved to England to her new husband’s hometown. She’d described arriving to an unknown country, uprooted from the life she’d always had, and the anxiety of the move, but also the excitement of starting a new life with the man she loved.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Things had started to go wrong as soon as she’d set foot in the airport, and no one was there to pick her up, as her husband had promised. When she’d called him to ask if he was still coming to get her, he’d only replied she must have had the wrong number, and hung up. Upset, tired from the flight, she’d taken a cab to her in-laws’ house, ready to get into her first “married couple-fight” for the tasteless joke.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Except upon her arrival, neither her husband nor her in-laws had seemed to recognize her. It was as though she’d never even been a part of their lives, polite but uncomfortable excuses thrown her way.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She was adamant the three people in the house were her husband and his parents, whom she’d met the day of the wedding, there was no doubt about that, but they had looked so confused and worried at her increasing agitation.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When tears had started swelling in her eyes, her mother-in-law had kindly offered for her to stay the night, promising they’d help her find whoever she was looking for after she’d rested.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The young woman had half expected them to call the police on her, but no one had come to disrupt her as she lay in the guest room, unable to find sleep, a loneliness more intense than she’d ever felt before weighing on her like a cold, heavy shroud.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She’d gotten out of bed late in the night when all the noises had settled downstairs, desperate for a glass of water. All the lights were off, the unknown house filled with strange shadows in the dark, but she insisted the scene she’d witnessed had been as clear as day.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Around the kitchen table, bathed in the orange glow of the streetlamp outside, were sitten what she could only describe as the </span>
  <em>
    <span>frauds</span>
  </em>
  <span> wearing her husband’s and in-laws’ faces.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The three figures were hunched over the table, their spines showing even through the fabric of their clothes, almost sharp, the skin taut where it was visible at the nape of their necks. It could have been a trick of the light, she’d admitted, but the rest couldn’t have been anything other than the crude reality.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>One of the things was holding a stapler to its arm, loud </span>
  <em>
    <span>clicks</span>
  </em>
  <span> ringing in the tiny kitchen with each pull of the trigger, stitching the loose skin hanging off its shoulder like an ill-fitting shirt to the sleek, leathery flesh shifting underneath it, like the smooth scales of a snake coiling around a branch.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The two other creatures - who were wearing her husband’s and mother-in-law’s faces - were making cracking sounds the young woman had first thought were a sort of communication, though none of them were opening their mouths. Following their gazes to their hands, propped flat on the table, she’d quickly understood her mistake.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Their fingers were shifting without moving, the fine bones breaking under the skin and resetting themselves without apparent effort from any of the creatures. It repeated again and again and again, the hands taking different shapes, sharp and twisted under the stretched skin.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She couldn’t remember making any kind of sound or movement, but the clicking and crunching noises had stopped, and when she’d raised her gaze from the table, the three creatures had been staring at her. She’d almost expected them to jump on her, to rip her skin off of her flesh and make it another human suit, but they’d kept still, unblinking eyes boring into her, reminding her of the snakes in animal documentaries waiting immobile for the right time to strike their prey.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Finally, she’d broken the silence to ask where her husband was, what they’d done with him. The one wearing her mother-in-law’s skin opened its mouth, revealing rows of sharp teeth, but gave no reply, only opening wider and wider, until the jaw cracked. It didn’t stop though, the skin on the cheeks splitting as it unhinged its jaw.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The woman didn’t stay to see what it was going to do, only ran to the front door, finding it locked. Cracking noises behind her alerted her that the things were following, but she hadn’t turned to look, instead throwing open the living room window, twisting her ankle in the soft earth of the front lawn as she had jumped outside, and had limped as far as she could before collapsing on the bench at a bus stop in a well-lit area.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was a young man with a guitar case on his back waiting for the first bus of the day, and he had landed her his phone to call the police when he’d noticed how distressed she seemed. He’d waited with her until they’d arrived, and she’d almost burst into tears into his arms, sobbing through her explanation of what had happened to the complete stranger. He’d listened to her and then suggested that she write about her experience on that website, where she might find some more satisfying answers than the ones the police would be able to give her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’d been right about one thing at least: the police hadn’t done shit except go to her in-laws’ house and retrieve her things, saying the family there seemed completely normal, and that her husband had been asking after her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She hadn’t gone back.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geralt had decided to follow the lead, and two nights later, he’d ended up in a fight with the three creatures that had done a poor job masquerading as the young woman’s family. He’d ambushed them in the little house on the outskirts of the city, but he’d struggled to confine the fight to the property and had ended in the dark street, where he’d sunk his sword in the gaping maw of the fake mother-in-law.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The thing had died slowly, black ichor spurting from its wound with a disgusting gurgle that had Geralt scowling as he’d wiped the flat of his blade against its torn flowery dress. He was slightly out of breath, and the light drizzle was a small relief against the heat under his skin. The potion he’d chugged before confronting the creatures was still burning in his system, and he was so strung up he’d almost thrown his sword in direction of the clapping sound as soon as it had started behind him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sitting on a low wall on the other side of the street, a young man with a guitar case strapped to his back and a frankly appalling tie dye crop top was applauding with what looked like genuine glee. The vision was so absurd Geralt needed a second to comprehend it, and it was enough for the man to jump from his perch and strut towards him with an outstretched hand.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, that was </span>
  <em>
    <span>marvelous</span>
  </em>
  <span>, truly. Very badass. They should make a movie about you, dear, I’m sure it’d be a hit. Oh, or a TV series! The whole black eyes white skin thing is really on trend. Are you looking for a manager?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The onslaught of words had unsettled Geralt, but he didn’t feel threatened by the unarmed man until the medallion started to shake violently under his shirt. His sword was raised and he was back in a defensive stance before the man had finished talking.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Who the fuck are you?” He growled as the man — if he was even human — raised his hands in a placating gesture and threw his head back with a carefree laugh.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You don’t need a sword for me to tell you my name, handsome,” he said with a cartoonish wink. “My birth name is Julian Alfred Pankratz, but you can call me Jaskier.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If Geralt hadn’t already been convinced the man was ridiculous, the exaggerated flourish he executed as he introduced himself certainly did it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He didn’t even think about laughing though, as an icy feeling sunk in his guts. “You’re a Pankratz?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hmm, yes, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised you’ve heard of my family,” Jaskier had muttered, sounding almost disappointed, but the cheerful spark in his eyes wasn’t gone for long. “But worry not, my muscular friend, I am only here for my personal pleasure. Nothing to do with my famously insipid relatives.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geralt had arched a skeptical eyebrow. “You’re an Avatar of the Eye. I doubt anything that’s happening right now is even close to private.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Pssh,” a dismissive hand waved at him, and Geralt only grew more confused. “I’m more the disappointing child that only comes home for funerals. As I said, you’ve got nothing to fear from me. I just want to hear some good stories. And you, my friend,” a pink tongue peeked out to wet Jaskier’s lower lip, and his pale eyes darkened with hunger, “look like you’re full of them.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geralt had considered the lithe man for a moment. If a person wanted to look unthreatening, they wouldn’t do it better than the young man, with his foppish brown hair and wide blue eyes, an easy smile plastered on his face like nothing bad had ever happened in his life.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But the intense thrum of his medallion was unmistakable, and Geralt had heard the name Pankratz often during his training. Vesemir had tried for years to get to the ancient family. It seemed the name was involved in every undertaking organized by worshippers of the Ceaseless Watcher. They were rich, powerful, and untouchable. Geralt’s old mentor had sacrificed his health in his crusade against them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It would have been a terrible mistake to think Jaskier harmless.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geralt would be no match against an Avatar, even the least powerful of them. Attacking the man would be stupid, and end in his own demise without the shadow of a doubt. Jaskier’s demand seemed genuine as far as Geralt could tell, though he’d never be stupid enough to believe an Avatar’s word. They usually had a knack to bend the truth to their advantage.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’d lowered his sword, and, ignoring Jaskier’s answering smile, turned his back to the man, striding instead towards his motorcycle he’d parked at the end of the block.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier didn’t try to follow, but called after him, “You won’t resist my charm for long, Van Helsing! I’ll get your story, and I’ll write you the best song you’ve ever heard!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fuck off,” Geralt replied over his shoulder before kicking the gas pedal and leaving the laughing man in a cloud of acrid smoke.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That was the first time Jaskier had meddled in one of Geralt’s hunts.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There were countless others.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier kept appearing in Geralt’s life, strumming on his guitar, composing little ditties on the spot, sometimes helping in a weird, convoluted way, sharing precious information when Geralt agreed to tell him stories, but most of the time he’d just stay back and watch, commenting on Geralt’s fighting style or how his ass looked in his new trousers.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Hunter never trusted him, but the Chronicler made himself useful in his own way, when he was so inclined. He became a constant presence in Geralt’s life. An annoying, loud presence that had Geralt permanently on edge, wondering when Jaskier would get bored and decide killing him would be funnier than listening to his grunts and curses. Yet somehow, it still made his life less lonely.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Once Ciri had appeared in his life, though, he’d seen the man less and less. He didn’t want him to know about the little girl, had to protect her from the hungry gaze of the Beholding.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier hadn’t been fooled; he’d always made a point not to use his powers on Geralt, declaring that if he decided to share his story with him, it’d be by the sheer power of friendship. But he’d known immediately Geralt was hiding something from him, and he’d pestered him for months, asking why Geralt was taking less and less hunts, what he was doing in all this free time, and Geralt would close off more and more, until one day he’d felt that terrible feeling of being </span>
  <em>
    <span>read</span>
  </em>
  <span>, of having nowhere to hide, of being robbed of his every secret.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Cold dread had frozen his veins as he’d heard the man utter a soft </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and the feeling had lifted off of him even before he’d turned back on him, but rage laden with fear had him throw caution to the wind. He’d caught Jaskier by the throat, snarling mere inches from the other’s face.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I’m sorry, Geralt, I didn’t-” Jaskier had started, looking for all the world like he truly regretted what he had done. That hadn’t appeased the Hunter.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“You fucking stay out of my life. If I see you again, I’ll gut you with my sword.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>To his credit, Jaskier had complied to Geralt’s request. He hadn’t reappeared in his life, and there was no hint that the Ceaseless Watcher’s goons knew about Ciri’s existence. After a few years, Geralt had started to wonder if Jaskier had truly been interested in him solely for his stories, with no hidden schemes at the service of his patron. The idea was absurd, but nothing about Jaskier had ever made sense before.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt swears as he steps in a puddle. He frees his shoe from the dark mud with a loud sucking noise, grimacing at the murky water seeping into his sock.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The fog is getting thicker, pressing in around him, and the shapes moving just beyond it seem to disappear with a whisper every time he gets close. This Domain feels rather tame compared to the ones Geralt has been through until now, but he has no doubt the poor souls wandering the place are living their worst nightmare.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t let the disembodied voices calling his name right into his ears get to him, but tenses when they start taking a more familiar pitch and tone. It echoes around him, taunts him, pulling Ciri’s voice from his memory to torture him. He clenches his teeth, unsheathing his sword to have something to occupy his hands with more than to defend himself. Even his silver sword wouldn’t be of much use against aggressive mist, but the weight of it is grounding.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Fear has been ripped from him before he’d gone through his first growth spurt, but hearing Ciri’s distressed voice has always made his heart clench and his stomach drop. Even knowing it’s just an illusion doesn’t take the edge off.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Geralt!</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The voice grows louder and louder, and dark shapes in the fog twirl around him. He keeps walking, trying to keep out of the muddy puddles, eager to leave the gloomy place. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Geralt!</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>One of the silhouettes in the mist doesn’t seem to disappear as he gets closer to it, and he braces himself for a confrontation with whatever Avatar rules over this Domain, or one of the souls wandering its damp grounds.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Geralt!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” This time the voice is not Ciri’s, but it, too, is oddly familiar, and Geralt frowns, wondering why the Domain would choose this one to torment him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Jaskier?” He calls just as the fog thins enough to reveal the young man, unchanged even after all these years, his bright purple shirt a laughable contrast with the monochrome setting. And beside him, holding his hand…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ciri?” His voice chokes with emotion, and he barely has time to drop his sword before she lets go of Jaskier’s hand to run into his arms. He crushes her against his chest, burying his nose into the crown of her head, not even trying to hold back his tears. “What-?” He can’t even formulate a question, just holds her and looks at Jaskier with incredulous disbelief. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The man approaches with a smile, leaving them enough space for their embrace, and crosses his arms over his chest. “See, little swallow, I told you he’d be somewhere incredibly boring. We just had to find the least amusing place in the apocalypse.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ciri pulls away from his chest, tears streaking her cheeks. “Oh, Geralt! I’m so happy we’ve found you! Jaskier said we would, but it’s been so long. I thought you were dead,” she sobs and buries her face back in his chest.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I’m here now, cub. I’m sorry I left you alone for so long,” he strokes her hair soothingly. He hadn’t realised how much he’d missed her until now. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So very touching,” Jaskier coos, then grimaces as he wipes the condensation on his skin. “But can we find somewhere else to hug? The humidity is fucking up my hair and I don’t think I’ll find an airdryer easily around here.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geralt isn’t paying attention to him, instead cradling Ciri’s face in his too large hands, checking her over for any sign of injury. He finds none, her blue cloak torn and singed in some places, a streak of mud on her cheek, but she looks healthy and whole and it eases the tension in Geralt’s shoulder. He still asks “Are you okay?” because he’s like that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She rolls her eyes and he squishes her cheeks a little harder in retribution until she whines: “I’m fineeee! I can take care of myself, and most monsters here are a bit scared of Jaskier anyway. One even bowed to him like he was a king or something!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I already told you they were merely acknowledging your ethereal beauty, princess,” Jaskier executes an exaggerated flourish that has Ciri giggling. “And you handled things very well without my help.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Tell him about the ghouls, Jaskier! You tell it better!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“As you wish, my swallow.” The man clears his voice, assuming a straighter stance like the fool in a Shakespearean play. “You see, I was filling the responsibilities that have recently been bestowed upon me when I heard the most beautiful voice. Second to mine, obviously. It rang in the air in a powerful soprano any opera singer would kill to possess. Immediately, I had to meet the marvelous creature capable of such talent.” He smirks as Ciri snorts. “And there she was, fending off terrible beasts with the sheer strength of her voice, the air around her alight with sparks and white flames. When her enemies were no more than a pile of ashes, I could finally see that not only was she the most terrifying warrior I had ever had the chance to encounter, she was also the most beautiful.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ciri claps as Jaskier gives a salute and a wink, and Geralt has the feeling they’ve rehearsed the tale many times. It’s weird, that his daughter has private jokes with someone else. He doesn’t know if he likes it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“At first I wanted to burn him too, but he said he knew you,” Ciri says, and quickly adds when she sees Geralt’s frown to that: “I wasn’t going to follow him at first, I’m not stupid, but he said stuff about you he couldn’t have lied about, and I thought, I needed to find you, and he could help me, and I could always burn him later.” Jaskier doesn’t seem unsettled by that one bit, his dazzling smile unwavering as he looks at the both of them in turn.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The idea that Ciri spent time alone with an Avatar of the Eye causes Geralt’s protective instincts to soar, a growl caught in his throat, but she seems unharmed, and she’s with him now. He supposes no one is safe from the Beholding’s influence here anyway.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Did you have anything to do with what happened?” Geralt asks Jaskier. He hates how much he wants to trust him, to latch onto his familiar presence like an anchor in the fog, but he can’t let himself give in, it’s not safe, and he can’t do anything that might risk Ciri’s life.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier clutches his metaphorical pearls. “Geralt! Why would you say such a thing?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know, the big fucking eye in the sky is a pretty good indicator your boss has something to do with it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, I’ll have you known I absolutely did not contribute to it in any way. As I told you many times, I am not the perfect worshipper my family wanted me to be. The one responsible for all this mess was not even aware he was doing it until it was too late. A pompous academic,” Jaskier rolls his eyes. “Though his boyfriend is quite cute. Curious match.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You still benefit from it,” Geralt doesn’t let himself be distracted. “This is like an all-you-can-eat buffet for you, isn’t it?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hmm, yeah I guess it is. But it is also immensely boring. I quite liked how it was before. Disseminate a bit of fear there, collecting stories there… Now it’s all endless torture and all-encompassing fear, and no one to listen to my songs,” Jaskier actually pouts, fiddling with the strap of the guitar case across his chest. “I must say, I am quite grateful Destiny brought Ciri to me. I’ve been worried for you, Geralt.” His smile dims for a second, honesty etched in his eyes as they bore into Geralt’s. “Even before all this. I am happy to see you are well.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The genuine relief in his voice opens a pit in Geralt’s stomach. It hurts how much he wants to believe those words, as scary as they may be. He’s missed Jaskier, he realises. He’s missed him for a long time.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How come you’re allowed to wander through the wastelands?” He asks instead of addressing his sudden realisation. “The Avatars I’ve seen until now couldn’t leave the confines of their Domain.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier answers with a shrug. “I guess it’s a perk of being one of the big boss’ pets. It’s like a VIP pass.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And you’re not worried you might get in trouble by associating with us?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A wolfish grin spreads on Jaskier’s face, and it sends sparks of excitement and anticipation in Geralt’s stomach. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, darling. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>live </span>
  </em>
  <span>for trouble.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Their intense exchange of looks is interrupted by the exaggerated retching sounds Ciri is faking between them. “Eww, stop flirting with Geralt, that’s gross!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, little bird, I did not wish to offend your innocent ears,” Jaskier laughs as Geralt’s face burns. It seems to delight the other man, who winks at him with mirth in his eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What are you going to do now?” The Hunter asks, ignoring the embarrassing flutters in his stomach. “Going back to your Domain to torture innocent souls?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ha! Only you would assume anyone in this world is innocent, my sweet sweet man.” Geralt frowns at the condescending tone, but Jaskier raises a finger to interrupt his retort. “But no, I don’t think I will. I know for a fact that tagging along with you is entertainment guaranteed.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Before Geralt can even start to protest, Ciri grabs at his sleeve and says with her best puppy-eyed expression: “Come on, Geralt, Jaskier is so funny! He knows a whole lot of stuff about everything, and he said he knew a place we could be safe. We would even be able to sleep there!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geralt’s attention snaps back to Jaskier. “Is that true?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“There are a few pockets that haven’t been touched by the Fears. I can’t see what is going on there, but I know where to find the closest one, if that’s what you want to do.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And what other options do we have?” Geralt asks drily, heart beating faster at the idea that they might find somewhere to rest, somewhere Ciri will be safe.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The Geralt I know would try to find a way to save the world. A knight in not-so-shining armor, fighting the most powerful Entities in every dimension. That didn’t use to scare you, before.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I have Ciri, now. She’s the world I’m fighting for.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This makes Jaskier pause, considering Geralt for a moment, before nodding with a serious expression Geralt has only seen him harbor a couple of times. “I’ll show you the way, then.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geralt nods back, hoping it conveys his gratefulness, for having kept Ciri safe when he couldn’t do it himself, for showing her the way to him, for helping them now. For having kept the Lonely away from him years ago.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wait,” Ciri intervenes, a frown scrunching up her pale, dirt-streaked face. “You think there’s a way to save the world?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The flitting look Jaskier gives him before settling on Ciri opens a pit in Geralt’s stomach. Cold, unrestrained fear. He knows what the Avatar is going to say, he’s known it for a while now, and there is nothing he can do to stop it. Ciri has the right to know, no matter how hard he wishes he could keep her from it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I do, my little swallow,” Jaskier says gently. “There’s no guarantee for it to work, and it certainly can’t be a pleasing matter. But I do think there is a way.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s me, isn’t it?” Ciri manages to surprise even Jaskier, who mirrors Geralt’s shocked expression.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Come on, I’m not stupid. Geralt told me about the way I was born, and I noticed the monsters who tried to attack us didn’t care about you. I’ve thought about it, and I think that when they created me, they gave me the power to pull the Fears into the world, but also to push them back. And I think they’re scared, that’s why they keep attacking us.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A surge of pride fills Geralt’s heart at the same time Jaskier murmurs “Smart girl” with a hint of disbelief in his tone.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Then shouldn’t we at least try? If I’m the key, or whatever, isn’t it like, my duty?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier smiles softly, though there is an edge of sadness to it. “You’ve taken after your father, sweet girl.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No,” Geralt hears himself say roughly, and they both turn their heads to stare at him in surprise.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No,” he repeats after clearing his throat. “It’s too dangerous. We don’t know what the consequences will be. We stay in a safe place until we have more information, that’s the first thing I taught you, Ciri.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, right,” Ciri rolls her eyes. “Like you wouldn’t run into it head first if </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> could do anything about it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s a point for the princess,” Jaskier quips cheerfully. The death glare Geralt sends his way is enough for him to shut up, for once.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s different, Ciri. I won’t let you put yourself in danger for some hypothetical-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, you won’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>let</span>
  </em>
  <span> me?” She fumes, and the air seems to get warmer around her. They’ve fought before, of course, that’s to expect when you put a stubborn loner and an even more stubborn teenager together, but he’s never seen her so upset, white flames dancing around her clenched fists. “All those talks about how I get to choose my own path whatever Destiny other people think I should fulfill, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> get to tell me what to do?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The situation has changed! Rules adapt to the environment!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh please!” She scoffs, a puff of smoke coming out of her mouth. “Stop treating me like a child, Geralt. I’ve taken care of myself just fine all this time, haven’t I?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The stab of hurt and guilt buries itself deep in Geralt’s chest, but before he can reply, Jaskier reminds them of his presence by clearing his throat.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hum, not that I want to interrupt on this adorable father/daughter bonding moment, but I think we have company.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Indeed, when Geralt tunes back to their surroundings, the shapes in the fog seem to have taken a more material appearance. Hunched, eyes and mouths glowing with pale light, the creatures are pacing back and forth without taking their gaze off of their little group. Sharp claws click at the end of elongated arms. Geralt takes a step backward and unsheathes his sword.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I thought you wouldn’t get attacked,” Geralt whispers to Jaskier, who has gotten closer on Ciri’s other side, so their bodies are shielding her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>One of the creatures jumps in her direction, and Geralt steps forward, slashing with his sword. It doesn’t meet any resistance, the creature going straight through it without slowing. The claws that rip at his shoulder are solid, though, and he grunts at the sudden flare of pain.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Geralt!” Ciri cries out, and he feels her tugging at the back of his shirt.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Stay with Jaskier,” he replies as another creature prepares itself to jump at him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No! Get behind me!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t have time to reply before a surprisingly strong arm hooks around his waist and tugs him back. Jaskier is pulling him to the ground, Ciri stepping in front of them. Intense fear fills Geralt at the sight of his daughter facing sharp-clawed, vicious creatures, but hands are covering his ears and Jaskier forces him to face forward, their noses inches from each other. The familiar sound of Ciri’s scream is barely muffled by Jaskier’s palms, but it is so much stronger than what Geralt’s used to, pressing on his body like he’s in deep water, his eardrums in agony, he feels like he might pass out. The intense pressure on his skull lifts after a second, and when he opens his eyes he sees Jaskier’s lips moving. Singing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s nothing Geralt recognizes, but the smooth voice drowns Ciri’s shrieks like they're on the other side of a very thick wall. His lungs fill with burning air again as he focuses on Jaskier’s song, staring back in his almost unnaturally blue eyes. After a while, Jaskier’s gaze flicks up towards Ciri, his hands leaving Geralt’s head as the song dies on his lips. Geralt feels a little colder, until he looks around them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The fog seems to have lifted a little, but smoke rises from the still smouldering ground. It’s no longer damp, the dry mud blackened and cracked. There’s no sign of their attackers, but Geralt assumes they’ve either gone up in smoke or abandoned the fight.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ciri stands with her back to them, panting softly, and Geralt rises to his feet. She flinches when he lands a hand on her shoulder to make her face him, and he takes his hand back as if burned, worry churning in his gut.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>For a second it’s as if her eyes are burning green flames when she looks at him, the air around her sizzling hot, but then she comes back to herself and looks a little lost, before jutting her chin out in defiance. “See? I can protect myself.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah… Yeah, you definitely can,” he breathes, still winded from the fear and adrenaline. “Fuck, cub, I’m so proud of you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ciri’s determined expression softens at that, and she steps closer to squeeze her arms around Geralt’s waist. “I’m sorry,” she mumbles. “I missed you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I missed you too, cub.” Meeting Jaskier’s suspiciously wet eyes, Geralt asks:“What do we need to do?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, I’m not sure exactly, but it has to happen there,” Jaskier says, pointing at the looming tower that is visible even through the mist.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geralt shakes his head. “I’ve walked in that direction for miles without ever getting closer.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That, my friend, is because you don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> the way to get there. But </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> do.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’ll help us? Even if that means all of this,” Geralt gestures to the fearscape around them, “will disappear? That you might disappear too?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier shrugs. “I told you, I’m bored here. I can’t resist a doomed adventure. And I don’t think I’ll disappear. It’s been a long time since the Eye was my only anchor.” There is that intense look back, and Geralt is starting to get used to the fluttering of his stomach.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ugh, you two are going to make me sick. I’d rather get stuck in one of the Corruption’s Domains,” Ciri says as she tugs on Geralt’s hand. “Let’s go, we’ve got to save the world, or whatever.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sheathing his sword before Ciri manages to make him trip over the uneven ground, Geralt allows himself a tiny smile. His heart feels whole again, with his daughter and… yes, he supposes, his friend, by his side. The apocalypse doesn’t seem so terrible anymore.</span>
  <span></span><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>That is, until Jaskier swings his guitar to his front and strums a few chords with an inspired expression. “Oh, this is so ballad-worthy! I can feel my writer’s block evaporating like those horrible fog-creatures. This is so going to be a masterpiece.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>As always, a huge thank you to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/biancarambles/pseuds/biancarambles">biancarambles</a> who beta'ed this work and listened to me rant about it for months. She also participated to the Geraskier Reverse Bang, go give her cute little <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29564775">Over the Garden Wall-inspired fic</a> a read!</p><p>Come yell at me on <a href="https://maya-the-yellow-bee.tumblr.com/">Tumblr</a>!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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